


where they will strike

by abovetheruins



Series: bf!verse [2]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The affections are like lightning: you cannot tell where they will strike till they have fallen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	where they will strike

"Are you sure about this, Cook?" Archie's still babbling away in his ear, looking all stressed and uncomfortable (even though they've had this conversation just about _ten times already_ ). Cook doesn't even bother to hide his grin, ruffles Archie's thick, dark hair until the other boy squirms and wriggles away from him.

"Would you quit asking me that?" he asks, leaning back into his seat. His step-dad is up front, humming along to some song playing on the radio. The two of them are in the back, clustered together among backpacks and sleeping bags. The sky overhead is clear and sunny. Perfect. "Look. I asked _you_ , didn't I?"

"Yeah, but-" It's kind of hilarious how high Arch's voice can get when he's upset. Cook can remember all too well that awful, awkward phase when he'd turned thirteen (hadn't tried to sing for _weeks_ , barely even wanted to talk with his voice going haywire like that). "I mean, I've never even been camping before and what if I mess something up? Oh, oh gosh, you should have asked Neal, or Andy, or heck, I'm sure Andrew wanted to come along, right? Shouldn't you have just-"

And alright, this is just getting ridiculous; Cook has to slap his hand over Archie's mouth to get a word in, smothering whatever's left of the other boy's protests. "Archie, _breathe_ , okay? I asked _you_ , didn't I?" He'd practically bullied Arch into it, actually, had been asking his step-father to take them both camping for _weeks_ , ever since the last month of school. The idea had just gotten into his head; he'd wanted... no, he _needed_ this.

The summer had always been theirs, his and Archie's. For three years now, ever since he and his family had first moved to that quiet little suburban street, ever since he'd met the younger David, that stretch of time between the end of May and the beginning of September belonged to them. It wasn't something they actually acknowledged, not something they even planned. It was just... natural.

Cook grinned a little, thinking of that first year. He'd never wanted to move, had hated leaving his old house and his old school behind (hated leaving his friends). He'd sulked the entire drive, stuffed his headphones over his ears and ignored his parents attempts to cheer him up. He could tell Andrew was in a similar mood; his little brother had been curled up against the window, moodily watching the scenery fly by.

They'd both been a little better once they'd actually gotten to the house, had jumped out of the car and chased each other around the huge front yard, zipping in and out of the mover's legs and tumbling head over heels onto the fresh-smelling grass. Cook remembered thinking -while he'd had Drew in a headlock, squirming for mercy- that maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

And then he'd met David, who laughs at his stupid jokes, who bursts into song when he thinks no one's watching, who smiles like he doesn't know how to do anything else, and suddenly? Suddenly it felt a lot like _home_.

They'd been inseparable ever since. Despite the two year age gap between them, despite the interference of school every August (Archie stuck two grades behind while Cook started out in middle school and moved on to the high school), they always found each other at the end of the day. _Inevitable_ , his mother would say, shaking her head as he'd race into the Archuleta's yard. She'd always joked that they must have been brothers in another life, the way they clicked.

(Cook would shake his head and silently disagree - _brothers_ never seemed quite right, not with him and Archie).

It wasn't like they didn't have any other friends. Cook would hang out with the older boys from the other side of the neighborhood, Neal and Andy and the others; Arch would go off with Ramiele and Brooke and Danny, kids he'd known all his life. Sometimes they would even mesh together, this huge group of color and laughter and noise.

But there's something he has with Archie that he doesn't with anyone else, something he can't really explain (thinks he's starting to understand it, lately, like he's just beginning to assemble the pieces to some great puzzle, always _almost_ there).

Maybe he's counting on this weekend to push something into place, for something to finally click.

"You'll see," Cook says, throwing an arm around Archie's shoulders and squeezing, grinning as the smaller boy squirms. "The next three days are going to be _awesome_."

He's absolutely sure of it.

-

They make it to the campsite just as the sun is setting. It's right by the river, surrounded by thick groves of trees, paths that snake out in all directions. They gather a pile of sticks and branches into the middle, set up their tents by the light of a bright, crackling fire. Cook wants to drag Archie to the river, can hear it quietly gushing in the dark, wants to explore the woods around them and climb the huge, thickly growing trees.

His step-dad grabs him by the collar before he can rocket off into the darkness, yanks Archie back along with him. "Oh no you don't," he says, chuckling at Cook's grumpy expression. "You can explore in the morning, when you can actually _see_. Don't want you getting lost."

"Lost?" Cook slumps down in front of a fallen log close to the fire, already reaching for the cooler tucked away close by (he distinctly remembers his mother packing away chocolate and marshmallows earlier). Archie settles down beside him, looking far too relieved at their interruption. "You think I'd get us lost, Arch?"

"Um." And oh, Cook recognizes that look; it's Archie's 'sorry but I'm about to politely insult you' look. "I uh, wouldn't want to risk it?"

"Why you-!" He immediately goes in for the kill, attacking Archie's sides with his fingers. It's a practiced move - he knows just where to poke and prod to get Arch laughing (these full blown, gasping giggles, completely unrestrained), knows just how much pressure to use to drive the younger boy crazy (lighter against his neck, harder against his hips).

"Oh, oh no! Cook -haha, oh my _gosh_!- Cook, stop! I give!"

"You what, Arch?" Cook grins ear to ear, Arch practically folded over the log by now, twisting and turning and trying in vain to escape Cook's wriggling fingers. "I couldn't hear you that first time!"

"Oh! Pfft, haha! You don't - play fair!" And then Archie actually pulls one over on him, arching his back in a move that completely throws Cook off and using the lull in action to flip the other boy over, fingers digging into the sensitive skin under Cook's arms, even - _crap, crap, no!_ \- that spot behind his ears that leaves him in a wiggling, snorting mess on the ground.

His laughter rings out over the campsite; he can hear Archie, too, breathless and giggling, his voice all soft and raspy. His step-dad's deeper chuckles join them from across the fire, and it's - nice. Warm.

"Alright, you two." Stanley pulls them apart, Cook curling up on the ground in an exhausted heap as soon as Archie's fingers slip away, the other boy slumping against the log and panting, eyes drooping and heavy. "Come on, off to bed. Save all of that energy for tomorrow."

They say goodnight, Stanley dousing the flames as Cook and Archie tumble into their tent. It's set a few feet away from his step-dad, their sleeping bags and pillows thrown in and tangled together, impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Cook throws himself onto the pile, burrowing into the warm and slightly musty smelling blankets (they hadn't used their camping gear in ages, it'd been stowed away in the closet for so long). He hears Archie zipping up the flap, turns over onto his back to watch the other boy pick his way through the tent in the dark, hears the rustling of fabric and zippers as Archie pulls pajamas out of his knapsack.

"Throw me mine, would ya, Arch?" he calls, lazily kicking off his sneakers and socks, stuffing them into the farthest corner. He feels a lump of fabric hit his chest in the dark, mutters a cheeky "thanks!" as he wriggles out of his t-shirt and shorts, yanking on his pajama pants (the plaid ones, he knows - the only pair he'd packed).

"You're so lazy." Archie's voice is warm and close - Cook hadn't noticed him slipping under his own share of blankets. He can make out the other boy's outline in the dark, faintly, hear the rushed, raspy sound of his breathing - he'd always wondered about it, the way Archie sometimes struggled with his voice, how thin and reedy it could sound sometimes. Worried, too, though he tried not to let the other boy see it.

"Good thing you're here to take care of me then, huh?" he says, grinning in the dark and pulling the blankets up to his chest.

There's silence for a moment, just the sound of their steady, lazy breaths. Cook's almost nodded off before Archie's voice rouses him from his stupor.

"Why did you want me here so bad?"

The question catches Cook off guard. "Why'd you ask that?"

"Well." Archie's voice is hesitant and shy - he's nervous, for some reason, though Cook's not sure why. "I just. When you asked me, it was like you _needed_ me to say yes." He laughs a little, soft and quiet. "You wouldn't even go home until I asked my parents."

Cook's glad for the dark when he feels his face flush; he _had_ been a little stubborn, not moving an inch from Archie's living room floor until the boy had asked Jeff and Lupe for permission. He'd nearly tripped over his own feet when they'd said yes, rushing to tackle Arch in a hug that had nearly knocked him to the ground.

"Yeah, well..."

"Why was it so, um, important? That I come?"

Cook has to think for a second - suddenly he's the one feeling nervous, awkward. It's that thing, the thing he's been sitting on for months now, whatever it is between him and Archie that feels so - so _different_ from everyone else.

"It's summer," he finally murmurs, pressing his cheek into his pillow. He can see the outline of Archie's face in the dark. "Since I moved into that house, since I met you, we've always been together, you know? I mean, not _always_ ; there's school and our friends and our lessons, all these little things that make it hard to hang out as much as we'd want to." Much as _he'd_ want to, anyway, feeling something thick and hot curling in his stomach and chest - it's new, and scary, something he's never felt before (some feeling that keeps popping up whenever he's around Archie).

"It's just, the summer - I've always thought of the summer as _ours_." He struggles to put what he wants to say into words; despite his apparent ease with them, it's still something he has to work on. "Maybe it doesn't really make much sense, but. The summer's kind of how this all started, you know? I just - I needed you to come with me."

He's silent after that, feeling awkward and embarrassed. He half expects Archie to just stutter out an excuse and roll over as far away from Cook as he can get.

He's so sure of it that he jumps when he feels two warm arms wrap around his stomach, freezes when Archie presses his face into Cook's throat in the most direct and full-bodied hug Cook's ever gotten from him - usually he has to tackle Archie into it, wrap his arms around him and hang on until Arch has no choice but to hug him back.

"Thank you, for asking me." Arch's voice is soft against his throat. He holds on for a moment longer before pulling back; Cook hears him settling down against his pillow, the rustle of blankets as he gets comfortable.

"No problem, Arch," he says, voice faint and unsure. He waits until soft snores fill the tent before rolling over, wrapping his arms around his torso. There's still some phantom trace of warmth left over from Archie's body - he can't help but think, crazily, that's he's trying somehow to keep it.

It takes him half the night to fall asleep.

-

"Are you _sure_ you know where you're going?" Archie's voice is quiet and unsure, his fingers digging into the pile of branches clutched against his chest. He's starting to look scared, lip bitten almost to shreds by his teeth, eyes suspiciously bright as they walk, trying to find some place that looks halfway familiar.

Cook wants to drop his own bundle and grip Archie's hand, do _something_ to make that frightened look on his face disappear. He knows it's his own fault, wants to punch himself in the face for being such an idiot and getting them lost like this.

They'd woken up early that morning and gone fishing in the river, laughing and splashing each other - scared most of the fish away - eventually abandoning their rods and jumping into the cool, rushing water. They'd only climbed out when Stanley had lured them over with bacon and eggs cooked over the fire, gobbling down two helpings while they sat drenched and water-logged on the logs.

The rest of the day had been spent hiking through the trails surrounding their campsite, digging arrowheads and stones from the ground, Stanley steering them away from the patches of poison ivy growing around the paths. By the time they'd made it back, sweaty and exhausted, Cook had nearly jumped onto the cooler - he'd never gotten those smores the night before, damn it!- and began pulling out chocolate bars and marshmallows and graham crackers.

The wood pile had gotten low - Cook had volunteered himself and Archie to go out and get more. Stanley had made them promise to stay on the path, to only go a little way.

But Cook hadn't listened, had run off into the woods as soon as his step-dad's back was turned. Archie had followed at a more sedate pace, trying to keep track of the campsite - Cook hadn't even been worried; it was still light out, still easy to see, he _knew where he was going, Arch, geez, have a little faith!_

He'd told Archie horrible joke after horrible joke, made him laugh until he had to bend over, hands on his knees. They'd gathered together as much wood as they could carry - they'd even found three long sticks perfect for marshmallow roasting - before heading back, and it'd only been as they were following a path Cook didn't recognize that the first faint stirrings of fear had bloomed in his chest.

He'd tried to keep calm, figured they would come out somewhere he'd remember if they just kept walking. Twenty minutes and two more snaking, unfamiliar trails later, Cook had finally voiced the concern that had been nagging at him.

"Arch, I think we're lost." They'd tried to retrace their steps, Cook feeling more foolish and idiotic the further they went, guilt blossoming thick and sharp in his chest as Archie's face grew more and more desperate, teeth digging into his bottom lip in the way Cook knew it only did when Arch was nervous or afraid.

 _It's my fault we're stuck in this mess_ , he thinks, finally dropping his branches. It's getting too dark to see, now; fear is making him feel anxious and more turned around than ever. He grabs at Archie's hand, hoping that will help them both.

"I'm so sorry," he says, voice choked and quiet - feels the familiar burn of tears at the backs of his eyes, always so quick to cry when things get out of hand, he _hates_ it. He tries to shake it off with a laugh, winces as it comes out thick and watery. "I guess you were right, huh, Arch? I got us lost after all."

He's expecting Archie to be angry - knows he _should_ be, after this, he hadn't even wanted to follow Cook out here and now they're- but he's not. Archie's smiling at him, this tiny little grin - it's no where near his usual beam, but it's still enough to get Cook to stop, to _breathe_.

"It's okay, Cook." Arch sets his own branches on the ground, shakes the leaves and bits of bark off his fingers (doesn't let go of Cook's hand, though, keeps it tucked warm and safe against his own). He tugs Cook over to the nearest tree, pulls him down so that they're sitting side by side.

Cook can't help but gape at him, wondering how Arch can be so calm about this, how he can be smiling like they're not completely lost and helpless out here (how he can be smiling at Cook after he did this to them).

"Aren't you angry?"

Archie surprises him again, presses his free hand against Cook's head and ruffles his hair. Cook feels his anxiety and even his fear fading away, little by little, as Archie starts to stroke, fingers moving slow and lazy through Cook's messy hair. "You didn't mean to get us lost," he says, smiling - this time, Cook notices, it's a little more cheeky. "Though I _did_ tell you you probably would."

Cook laughs (it's a little watery still, he has to swipe a hand across his eyes before he feels composed enough to look Arch in the face). "Guess I should have listened, huh? You're probably wishing you would have never come now."

Archie sobers up immediately, shaking his head (still has his hand in Cook's hair, just resting). "No. I'm glad I came. Otherwise you'd be out here all alone, and - well, I'd worry. So I'd rather be with you."

Cook gets this uncontrollable urge to cry -again- and shakes his head, pushing forward until he's got his arms wrapped around Archie. He doesn't even have the energy to be embarrassed as his shoulders shake, muffling the sounds he's making against the collar of Archie's t-shirt. He has to bite back a sob as Archie hugs him back, digging his teeth into his lip as he just holds on.

Because he gets it, now. He finally understands what it is that's so different about Archie, what's so different about _them_.

 _I **like** him_. It's a quiet, painful revelation, makes him want to curl into himself and hide, makes him want to pull Archie closer and say something stupid, makes him want to beg the other boy not to leave - because he _will_ , Cook knows he will, once he finds out - but he closes his eyes against all of that and tries not to think about it.

It's only half an hour later that they see a light shining through the trees, hear the unmistakable bellow of Stanley's voice calling for them. They look at each in the dark and stumble to their feet (Cook not making it easy, doesn't want to let go of Archie just yet). They race down the path and nearly knock into Stanley, breathing fast and clutching his hands, Cook apologizing over and over again.

He stands still under his step-father's angry shouts (sees the relief in Stanley's eyes that overshadows his anger), silent as he's scolded, holds tight to Archie's hand.

He's not ready to let go yet.


End file.
